


where the pretty girls are

by paperclipbitch



Series: femslash100 drabbles [17]
Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - College/University, Community: femslash100, Crushes, F/F, Pining, Pre-Femslash, drabbletag
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-28
Updated: 2015-06-28
Packaged: 2018-04-06 13:10:31
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 250
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4222944
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/paperclipbitch/pseuds/paperclipbitch
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>[College AU] Bellamy isn’t known for his valid advice, so Clarke doesn’t know why she finds herself in Lexa’s sorority days later.</p>
            </blockquote>





	where the pretty girls are

**Author's Note:**

> [Title from _Precious Things_ by Tori Amos.]
> 
> For **femslash100** 's drabbletag 6, with the prompt _glasses_. This probably wasn't what the original poster was thinking but once I started thinking it I couldn't stop, and also now I totally want to write 800000 more words of Lexa being queen of campus and Clarke being like *_____* and trashing about with Bellamy. And I think the notes are longer than the drabble now, cough.

Lexa is Lexa: queen of her sorority, too much eyeliner, spiked boots and spikier glare, pursed lips and sharp nails and perfect GPA. 

Clarke, on the other hand, is Clarke: stumbling through her scholarship, other people’s sweaters, other people’s gossip, crashing on her frenemy’s older brother’s couch to save on rent.

“Pretty sure we count as actual friends by now, Princess,” Bellamy tells her as he kicks her ass at _Halo_ , “and don’t let Octavia catch you calling her your ‘frenemy’.”

“Octavia loves it,” Clarke replies, three shitty beers to the wind and just a little maudlin for terrifying pretty girls who don’t seem to have much time for Clarke. “And she won’t talk me up to Lexa.”

Bellamy snorts, knocks his knee into Clarke’s. “You could try selling yourself, you know,” he says. “We already know Lexa likes people who speak up.” Something explodes onscreen. “Oh, dude, I think that was your spine.”

Bellamy isn’t known for his valid advice, so Clarke doesn’t know why she finds herself in Lexa’s sorority days later, clutching her binder of inadequate lecture notes and trying not to scuff an unlaced sneaker on the stairs.

“Come in,” Lexa calls, and Clarke does, stopping short in the doorway.

Lexa’s room is hella organised, but Clarke’s mostly looking at the elegant black-framed reading glasses sliding down Lexa’s nose. They soften her face a little, alter it, and when Lexa smiles at her, surprised but real, it’s not difficult to return it, slide the door closed.


End file.
